


the breath of all persisting stars

by annieane



Series: dum vivimus vivamus [2]
Category: Atlantis (UK TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3869452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annieane/pseuds/annieane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All throughout the wedding feast, he can hardly keep his eyes off her, not with the way the torches limn her with gold, as if she's made of stars. He can hardly stand to touch her, for fear of the lightning that arcs from her skin to his, for fear that he'll have to have her right there and then.<br/>-<br/>Or, the wedding night that should have been, featuring creative use of ribbons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the breath of all persisting stars

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, Jason finds out that he's Pasiphae's son, his heart doesn't blacken, and everyone's super chill when he marries Ariadne. Award yourself five points for every allusion to Greek mythology you spot.

All throughout the wedding feast, he can hardly keep his eyes off her, not with the way the torches limn her with gold, as if she's made of stars. He can hardly stand to touch her, for fear of the lightning that arcs from her skin to his, for fear that he'll have to have her right there and then. He can almost imagine it, imagine sweeping the plates from the table, bending her over, clutching her hand in his as she writhes underneath him. Instead, he has to content himself with whispering sweet nothings into her ear, causing the most delicate flush to blossom across her cheeks as she coughs and looks away, smiling at the court primly and graciously. She's been trained for such courtesies, but Jason has none of her patience and etiquette, his hand tracing patterns over her thigh.

The nobles must notice, because they rapidly set down their goblets soon after the final course, calling eagerly for the bedding, so he scoops her up and runs, fleeing to the privacy of their new shared chambers. They laugh at each other as he carried her across the threshold, the flickering candlelight draping the room in wide brushstrokes of orange and yellow, but as he sets her down, she quickly looks away, the smile vanishing from her face. She sits down, unlaces her shoes, then awkwardly stands up and turns her back to him.

"Can you..." She gestures at her dress. Half reluctantly, he slips the straps of her shoulders, lets it pool at her feet, seized by the fantasy of fucking her in it, her crown lopsided, gems winking like fires, knowing that under her cool queenly demeanour is her, hot and full of want, or even just ripping it off her body. He tucks her hair to one side, runs his nose across her shoulders, inhaling the scent of her, ready to take off her underdress too, but she quickly moves away. In the flicker of the candlelight, the white silk is translucent, as if she's carved from marble, and he imagines that if he concentrates hard enough, he could see every detail of her.

"Now you," she says, and she helps him take off his shirt, his trousers, until he's left in nothing but his sandals. He kicks them off as she averts her eyes and peels off her dress. There must be something in the heat of his stare that makes the tiniest blush creep up her neck, but he drinks her in hungrily all the same. He'd imagined that looking upon her would be like the desecration of a temple, the defilement of something sacred, profane and unholy, but although she truly does resemble a goddess on earth, there is something painfully human and shy about the way she folds herself inwards and hides herself from him.

And well, he can't have that.

He kisses her, hot and eager, then whispers against her lips how beautiful she is- how clever how kind how wonderful- until she's soft and pliant in his arms, and then, only then, does he bear her down onto the bed, disturbing the rose petals scattered on the coverlet. He mouths at the long graceful column of her neck with the sweetest kind of intent, then traces the line of her collarbone as he dips one hand between her thighs. "Do you want me to stop?" He peppers soft kisses on her skin, relishing the way she shakes her head abruptly, the way her leg wraps around his waist to try and draw him closer. Slipping his fingers inside of her, he realises that she is both soaking wet and tight- too tight- so he kisses a burning path down her body, stopping to suck on the soft skin beneath her breasts, before he ducks his head down between her legs and runs the flat of his tongue over the seam of her. Her hips cant up, and he half sees her hand move to cover her mouth, muffling a cry. "Don't," he takes it away, plants another kiss on her inner thigh for good measure. "Don't silence yourself." She nods. "I like it," he adds. "The way your body reacts."

"Then don't stop," she whispers. Her eyes are hesitant, almost liquid in the half light. He complies, presses her clit with the exact right pressure. She gasps, long and ragged and filthy, then pushes his head back down. He doesn't know all the exact places which will make her body sing, but he knows enough to make her fall apart, and he vows to learn everywhere that makes her scream with pleasure. His tongue fucks into her as slowly and as deeply as possible, savours the sweet taste of her, clings to her like a drowning man grasping for the last solid thing left in the sea, until she's a quivering mess beneath him, her hips rolling in stuttering little movements, bucking up whenever he hits a sweet spot, her moans deep and breathless, her hands grasping at the sheets so tightly her knuckles are white. He wishes he could keep her like that forever, but she's whimpering now, begging for something she wants but doesn't quite know how to get. So he swirls his tongue on her one last time, adds another finger, then clamps down on her clit and sucks hard. She freezes for one tiny imperceptible moment, then shatters into a thousand fragments, coming with a quiet beautiful cry. She draws him back up, kisses him hungrily. "I want you inside me," she moans against his lips, fumbles between their bodies. "Now, please, Jason, _please_ -" She quiets when she touches him, hard and wanting- he's been hard ever since they stepped into this room- and waits for him.

"I love you," he groans into her neck. "I love you more than anything in the world." He sinks into her wet heat with the most infinite care and tenderness, with all the gentle grace he knows. He stills and waits for her to adjust, already nearly half gone because of how perfect she feels around him.

"Move," she gasps, but then must grow impatient with him, because she wraps her legs tighter around his waist and flips them over. He sits up all the way, making her cry out as the angle changes. Her eyelids flutter and her look of concentration slips when she rises and sinks back down on his cock, so deep that the thought could make him lose it alone.

"Ariadne," he grits out as she clenches around him, and he runs his hands down the curve of her waist, the plane of her back, before one settles on the inside of her knee and the other cups her arse, both trying to pull her even closer.

"Fuck me," she orders, and though the authoritative tone of her voice belies the hesitance of it, she sounds so much like the queen she was born to be (and though Jason may be the rightful king, she is the true ruler) that he obeys instantly. He would anyway, would do anything she asked, would walk to the ends of the earth and beyond to make her smile, claw his way out of the Underworld to see her again, just to be with her, to bury himself in her light. He doesn't- can't- believe that he has the privilege of seeing her like this, of coming undone in her arms, of hearing her soft staccato breaths, of knowing that he's the one making her cry out and whimper.

At this height, her breasts are at the perfect level, so he leans forward and latches onto a nipple as she nips at his ear and whispers filthy litanies about how good he feels, how much she loves him, how right they are together. With every word, she contracts around him, and he pulses inside her, and he's so close he can barely breathe. He brushes his fingers over where they're joined, then circles them over her clit, determined to make this last.

"Don't stop," she cries out, mouths at his neck and his jaw and then he kisses her, hot and sloppy and open mouthed, not daring to change the rhythm, in case he loses it too early, because all he wants is just to be inside her forever and make her feel as good as he does. His world smells like her, tastes like her, and her hands run through his hair and down his back and clutches at his shoulders, and she rolls her hips in time with his thrusts and he tilts his head back, like a sunflower seeking the sun, so she can shower him with kisses, her loosened hair falling around them like a perfumed curtain. "Jason," she half sobs as she tenses and tightens around him and that finishes him, and he rocks into her and spills and groans her name. She falls, boneless and breathless, onto him with all the quiet dignity she can muster, and he eases them onto their side, and slips out of her after half a moment. Their heartbeats slow in time and she curls against him, making pleased satisfied noises.

"What if I got a babe on you?" he asks once his breathing has slowed. She nestles into him and hums in content.

"I'd like that," she whispers, and presses a kiss against his chest. "Maybe we should make sure, husband." The playful tone of her voice and the image of the gentle swell of her belly is too much, and she makes matters even worse when she reaches down and takes him firmly in hand, stroking him with complete confidence and a coquettish smile. "Are you tired?"

"No," he says far too quickly, and far too eagerly as well, if her laugh is anything to judge by. "Not at all. Wide awake."

"Good," a soft and easy smile sprouts on her face, before it turns into something decidedly more... wicked. She straddles him, catches up his left wrist, and binds it tightly to the bed with a silk ribbon, and then does the same for the other. She leans back, admiring the effect. "Is that comfortable?" She asks anxiously as she throws one knee over his shoulder. "It isn't too- _oh_ -"

He grins happily from under her, or as close to a grin he can possibly get when his mouth so pleasantly otherwise occupied. He swears that he could drink from her cunt again and again, until he's drunk and dizzy and until her legs are too weak to walk. He wishes that his hands were free, so they could fuck into her too, feel her walls clenching around him. A sense of pride fills him whenever he finds a particularly right spot, a gasp ripping through her body as she rocks down against him, her hands slamming against the wall for the support her legs are failing to give.

Suddenly, she freezes, her head snapping towards the door. He cranes his neck over her leg, slowly, in total silence, and then heard the whispered bets being made on whether he'll finish her off again or not. Ariadne's face is burning bright red, like a thousand rosy dawns, and she throws something unidentified and heavy at the door. The voices squeak in fear, and then scuttle away.

"I _knew_ that voice,' she mutters, sounding faintly displeased. "If I help him win his wager, do you think he would split the profits with me?" He stares at her, slack jawed, and she must take his silence as affirmation since she rises up, and then shimmies down his body. He shouts, actually shouts, when she takes him into her mouth, because he's so hard it's beginning to hurt, and the way she is staring at him greedily is not helping in any way.

"Don't," he manages to grit out. "Don't, or this will be over before it's truly begun."

"It hasn't begun yet?" She raises her eyebrows, and then strokes his balls for good measure, causing him to groan and thrust his hips upwards, seeking more.

"Of course it hasn't begun," he growls. "I would keep you up all night, and all morning, and all of the next day and the next. I would have you on your back and on your front and against the wall and on the floor and I would pour honey down your perfect breasts so I can taste every inch of you and I would have your handmaidens draw up a bath-" She silences him with a kiss, her eyes blown black with lust, before she tugs off the ribbons with one quick, graceful movement, and then rolls them over so that she is on her back.

"All these words," she teases. "Yet you do nothing. I am beginning to wonder." He plunges into her, then withdraws all the way to his tip before slamming back into her. She cries out so loudly that he fears that he hurt her, but her hands claw at his back and run over his nipples and she commands him, "Don't stop," so he doesn't. He feels hot and his heart is pounding in his chest, hard against her, and as her heels dig so hard into his arse he thinks they may leave bruises, he pushes both her legs so that they hook over his shoulders, getting ever deeper into her. She finds her pleasure twice before he his, and he sways over her before collapsing.

* * *

 

Their lovemaking lasts long into the night, and the following day, no councillors can look them in the eye without smirking. Nobody is surprised when the queen announces that she is pregnant so soon, and if they do hear the screams that echo through the castle nightly even after their last child, they are far too polite to mention it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate reading smut, I hate writing smut, I hate writing. I cranked this out in about ten minutes after I finally got over the last episode, and in all honesty, you can tell.  
> Come play with me on tumblr.  
> Title from "If I Believe" by e.e. cummings


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